


Obareu

by uumuu



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Angst, Gen, Loneliness, Pregnancy, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reiko's thoughts during her pregnancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obareu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluedreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/gifts).



The very idea was still alien to her: that life was growing inside her. Reiko was used to violence, to beating up youkai and bossing them around, sometimes do away with them when they were too dangerous or too stubborn. She was used to loneliness, to have no one on whom to rely. She couldn't hide her pregnancy any longer, not even to herself. Her belly was getting bigger, round and taut, making her movements clumsy at times. Soon she would be able to feel the baby kick, the doctor had said. A girl. 

Her body was nurturing life, but she wasn't sure _she_ had the ability to nurture anything.

“A mother,” she muttered, drawing back from the kitchen counter with a sigh. She walked through the open shoji to the veranda, where she sat down with her bare legs dangling from it, cradling the glass of iced matcha tea she had retrieved from the fridge.

The father of the baby (her 'lover' she could have said, but she wasn't sure what exactly there was between them) had paid for the house, and sent her money regularly, but he rarely visited. He claimed she needed the tranquillity, and Reiko preferred it like that. She never knew what to say to him when he came to check in on her, brought her manju, and started making plans for the upbringing of their child. 

The cicadas shrieked in the small garden. Reiko leaned over to one side and picked up a paper fan she had left lying on the veranda earlier in the day. The last time he had visited, he had told her, jokingly, that he was grateful to that sweltering hot summer: she couldn't go out and put herself in danger.

The child would be born in late autumn or winter, when all was dead. 

*

At night, the sticky heat kept her awake less than her own thoughts did. She lay on her futon, the duvet kicked away from it, with only a small light sheet to cover her belly. She tried to concentrate on the droning whirr of the ceiling fan, hoping it would dull her thoughts.

Her thoughts kept churning. Dark fancies, sorrowful forebodings. If she were to die in childbirth, would her regret be strong enough to come back as an ubume? Would she become a spirit herself? But what worried her the most – what terrified her – wasn't her own death. It was imagining what sort of life her child would have. If she would inherit her powers. If she would be shunned, despised by other people. If she too would have no true place in the world. 

Fear and anxiety gnawed at her, and bitter angry tears welled up in her eyes that she fought to stop. Then she curled up in her bed and prayed for the first time in her life, stroked her womb and prayed for happiness.

*

She got out very early, and headed to the river. Dawn had barely broken and it wasn't as hot as during the rest of the day. The cicadas were quiet. The neighbours still slept, there were no middle-aged ladies about their daily errands whispering among themselves that she was too young, and not married, a weird loner expecting a baby from god knew who. 

The flimsy sleeveless shirt she wore let in the gentle morning breeze, and she had tied her hair in a ponytail. It still felt odd compared to wearing her school uniform, but there was nothing to be done about it. She had dropped out of school as soon as she found out she was pregnant, and her uniform lay discarded at the bottom of a chest.

“I doubt I'd have graduated regardless,” she murmured to herself as she bent down to pick up a broken branch. She gripped it tight, sensing a presence in her vicinity. She had left the town behind and trees surrounded her on the path which led to the river. She didn't stop walking, but she was on her guard until she recognised a well-known spirit.

“Madara,” she said out loud. 

“It is so bizarre to see you heavy with child,” Madara's voice materialised next to her, a rustle through the tree-tops. “Perhaps I should eat you.” 

Reiko scoffed, without even turning. “Try.”

Madara didn't speak again until they got to the river, but Reiko felt his presence always at her heels. She kicked her zori off and sat down on the grass with her feet in the water. She heaved a grateful sigh, swinging her legs back and forth in the blissfully cool water. She loved those peaceful moments, free from the oppression of the heat and of her own brooding. On her way home she would make a detour to the konbini to buy some more drinks and a few bento boxes. There was a much wider choice before all high-schoolers and commuters had had a chance to raid the shop. She would pick what she liked best, and eat to her heart's content. 

After a while, Madara finally appeared on the riverbank, his footfalls light on the grass.

“I could eat you and your baby and perhaps earn a double intake of power.”

Reiko threw him a warning glance. Madara came closer and started sniffing her, but when his muzzle grew _too_ close to her belly, Reiko lifted her left fist, landing a vicious blow on his snout that knocked his whole upper body to the ground. 

“If you ever try that, I will lock you up in some tiny ugly object and throw you away where nobody will ever find you.”

Madara groaned and snorted, picking himself up from the grass and backing away from her.

“This isn't how you ought to treat your only friend,” he protested. “I got rid of two ill-intentioned spirits next to your house last night, you know.”

Reiko stiffened a little. “You did?”

“I did, you ungrateful rascal.”

Reiko turned her head, watching as Madara lay down and curled up, looking more like a giant cat than a fearsome youkai. He gave her a glare that failed to be threatening before closing his eyes. She lay back down on the grass too, staring up at the pale sun filtering through the leaves. She smiled, and whispered, “thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> In Japanese folklore, an ubume is a spirit born from the regret of a woman who dies in childbirth. "Obareu" is what the ubume cries, meaning "be born".


End file.
